


Channelling Eleanor Rigby - Part Three

by redvalerian



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Angst, Erotica, Fantasy, Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-13
Updated: 2012-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-31 03:29:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redvalerian/pseuds/redvalerian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>All the lonely people. Where do they all come from. And what do they do when they’re alone?</i> (This is a re-working of a story I wrote over a decade ago for another fandom altogether. A few changes in gender pronoun were necessary.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Channelling Eleanor Rigby - Part Three

Title - Channelling Eleanor Rigby  
Author - redvalerian  
E-Mail address - redvalerian@gmail.com  
Rating - PG  
Category – Hathaway/Lewis  
Tags – Hathaway, Lewis, slash, erotica, fantasy, angst, happy ending eventually, 

_All the lonely people. Where do they all come from. And what do they do when they’re alone?_ (This is a re-working of a story I wrote over a decade ago for another fandom altogether. A few changes in gender pronoun were necessary.)

 

Channelling Eleanor Rigby Part Three

Hathaway swept the lubricant and its packaging into the drawer in the table next to his chair. There was nothing he could do about the lubricant on his hands, so he rubbed them against his jeans and hoped for the best. Making sure he was zipped up, he walked over and opened the door. The concerned face of Robert Lewis met him, as he’d been sure it would.

“Can I come in, lad? You really didn’t look well today. I was worried about you.“

Without waiting for an affirmative, he pushed past Hathaway and entered the flat. Then he froze and gasped out loud.

“Christ – it’s freezing in here. You can see your breath! Why don’t you have the heating on? And why are you wearing a t-shirt? It’s February, man. There’s snow on the ground.”

Hathaway, tried to speak, but found that he had a lump in his throat for some reason. He opened his mouth anyway, but before he could get any words out, Lewis saw how emotional he was, and forestalled him.

“Hush, lad. Don’t try to talk yet. Here – put on my coat for a minute while I turn on your heating. Where’s your thermostat?” He draped his suede jacket over Hathaway, and the warmth seemed to wake the Detective Sergeant up out of his torpor.

“S…s…sir, you’re really too kind,” he stammered. “I’m fine, really. Just forgot to turn on the heat. The thermostat’s over here.” He pointed to the far wall, and then both he and Lewis noticed that his hand and arm were trembling. 

After quickly stepping over to turn the thermostat to maximum, Lewis came back and did something unusual. Something unprecedented. He grabbed the front of his jacket, which Hathaway was wearing like a cape, with the empty arms hanging on each side. Then Lewis pulled him into a rough embrace, first making sure that the coat was wrapped securely around his shivering body. Hugging Hathaway tightly, he began to rub his right hand slowly up and down his slender back, while with the other hand he cradled Hathaway’s head, pulling it down onto his left shoulder. He began making ‘hush’ noises, like those you make to comfort a baby. 

It was too much. To his horror, Hathaway began to weep, in great gasping sobs that wracked his already trembling frame. He wept for Will, dead on an alter covered with his own blood; he wept for Feardorcha, dead in an alien female body by self-immolation; but most of all he wept for himself. For everything he thought he could never have and for everything he thought he would never be. And Lewis continued to hold him and hush him, rocking him gently, making soothing sounds as he would to a grief-stricken child. And then somehow they were on the settee, and somehow he was in Lewis’s lap, still being held and rocked; only now Lewis seemed to be kissing his forehead and his temples; his cheeks and finally each side of his gasping mouth. 

“My beautiful boy. Don’t. Don’t do this to yourself,” he said, over and over, as Hathaway’s sobbing was finally reduced to a quick hiccoughing of indrawn breaths. “I can’t bear it. I can’t,” whispered Lewis. “What can I do to make it better?”

And those words finally registered with Hathaway and woke him up out of his misery. He lifted his head and looked at Lewis directly for the first time. And what he saw in his face was love. And he knew that Lewis saw the same emotion being reflected back from _his_ face. And they both smiled, a little tentatively. A little frightened by what had just happened, both now trembling from the emotional tsunami that had shaken them, but also awed by how simple it was, in the end. How simple it was to love and be loved in return. For as Will had put it so eloquently in his last message: "love is never wrong,"

( _The End? I haven't decided._ )

_To quote myself in a response to a comment: I was afraid I wouldn't be able to equal Hathaway's fantasy encounter with Lewis, so in the end I chickened out of writing their first real erotic encounter, but take it from me, they have one and it exceeds Hathaway's imagination. (And naturally, they live happily ever after!)_


End file.
